


Dog Tag Porn

by Xela



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: BDSM, Collars, Dog Tags, M/M, Paddling, Punishment, Sex Toys, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney has a hard time remembering to call John 'Colonel,' so John decides a lesson is in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Tag Porn

“Rodney...”

“Yes yes, Major, I heard you the first time. Busy now.” John narrows his eyes at Rodney's hunched form. Three weeks since his promotion and Rodney hasn't gotten his rank right _once_. One would assume the smartest mind in two galaxies—since Rodney's never been to the Ori galaxy John refuses to let him make it three—could remember the rank of his lover.

“Rodney—”

“Radek! I want the _updated_ ZedPM readouts! They're the numbers scrolling across your data pad! I didn't go crawling through miles of piping and air ducts for my health or to get out-of-date ZedPM readouts handed to me by someone who's supposed to be at least mildly competent, so if you could--”

“R _od_ -ney.” His soft, warning tone of voice brings Rodney to a stuttering halt, eyes wide. John never, NEVER uses that tone outside of the bedroom. A slight tremor runs through Rodney. John's eyes are hard and every line of his body screams dominance. Work is suddenly an unbearable annoyance, because all Rodney wants to do is drag John off to the nearest dark corner and drop to his knees. Rodney brings up a shaking hand to touch his radio.

“Send them to my e-mail.” Rodney clicks off, not waiting for Zelenka's response. He's almost embarrassed at the rush of contentment and low-level arousal that fills him when John smiles and nods his approval. He steps just far enough into Rodney's personal space to be invasive, smirking at his geek's barely-audible gasp and the way Rodney's chest starts heaving just a little.

“You have two hours to do whatever it is you have to do,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low and seductive. “Two hours, then I want you naked and silent, kneeling on the floor.”

John watches Rodney swallow, watches his breath catch and his eyes dilate, hears the soft whimper of desire. If he leaned in just a little bit, he could probably smell Rodney's arousal, but he resists because that would get them both in trouble. Rodney reacts so beautifully, so completely to John's words. It's one of the many things he ~~lov~~ likes about Rodney, how open and eager he is with John, how trusting.

“Rodney.” He puts command and the slightest hint of a warning in the word. That tone gets a rise out of Rodney as surely as suggesting biology or (if you were feeling suicidal) psychology were legitimate sciences.

“Yes, I...I'll be there.” John levels a look at Rodney, who swallows before casting his eyes to the ground. “I'll be there...Sir.” John flushes at the way Rodney says the word, rolls it on his tongue like a fine red wine, savors it and what it means. No one calls him sir the way Rodney does, and no one ever will. Not if John has anything to do with it. 

Because it's intoxicating. Rodney's like a drug he can't get enough of, a force of nature dictating the tides of John's life. He rewards Rodney with a real smile and a quick kiss before he turns on his heel and practically runs away. If he stays any longer, he'll jump Rodney in the middle of the lab. 

Besides, he has a few things to set up for tonight to make it truly unforgettable. 

***

Rodney scowls at the clock, which is currently breaking all the rules of physics by actually crawling _backwards._ He'd wrapped up all his work about ten minutes after John left and now he's just...here. Rodney turns back to his computer with a scowl and enters a few lines of code with vicious precision.

“Computer is not to blame.” Rodney turns his scowl on Zelenka, who goes about his work without missing a beat. Stupid impervious Czech pseudo-scientists. Rodney hits the keys harder just to be difficult, intent on ignoring Radek and his knowing eyes. He's pretty sure the squirrelly bastard knows about him and John, and times like this just confirm it. Rodney continues abusing the laptop as the silence stretches between them. Rodney growls because he can _feel_ Radek's smirk.

“To blame for what?” Rodney finally snaps, just to fill the space.

“For whatever is making you act like bee in bonnet.” Rodney gears up for a full tirade about bespectacled scientists who **know proper English** but refuse to actually use it when the man in question motions to the clock. “It is ten till.”

Rodney stares at the clock for a couple of moments, his eyes wide and sightless. A pointedly cleared throat startles him into action.

“I, uh, I gotta--”

“Yes, yes, go away,” Zelinka dismisses with a wave of his hand. As Rodney's footsteps fade down the hall, Radek allows himself a brief moment of amusement.

***

Rodney hovers around the hall to John's quarters until his watch beeps the hour. Checking around to make sure no one sees him, Rodney ducks into the room. The lights are low, up just enough to set a romantic sort of mood. A quick glance around shows that John isn't there, but when Rodney spies the trappings on the small Ancient bed, a feeling of calm descends on him. Rodney closes his eyes and starts to let himself go. Here, in this room, with this unspoken promise, is the only place he can turn his overactive brain off. The only time where he isn't unconsciously mapping the structural foundations of the rooms he's in, calculations sliding across the walls, a hundred equations running in the back of his mind. Here, he can...stop. And John can make him fly.

Rodney moves on autopilot, stripping off his clothes, folding and hiding them away. He stows a washcloth and hand towel under the bed, stepping back to admire his preparations. The final touch is a couple of pillar candles, courtesy of Teyla, that throw a soft stuttering light through the room. Finished and satisfied with the set up, Rodney slides to the ground and arranges himself on the waiting pillow. After a few moments of stillness, his mind tries to surge back, a new theory regarding ZedPM entropy attempting to take over and clamoring for attention. With supreme force of will, he pushes it back, shoves it into the area labelled 'change the face of mathematics after mind blowing kinky sex with Sheppard.' His brain hums, like a computer on stand by. He needs something to help take him down, to focus on since John isn't here to guide him, but he can't find anything. He starts fidgeting, trying to find his subspace but not able to get far enough down.

The sound of the door sliding open sets Rodney's heart racing, stills his body. He leans into the casual brush of fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Rodney literally can't resist the pull he feels towards John; he'd tried and ended up here.

They're leaning against one another, Rodney's weight against John's thighs, John's upper body curled protectively over his lover as he runs fingers through silky, fine hair. He could stay here forever, touching Rodney, and be content. Rodney's stomach growls loudly as the scent of food permeates the tiny room. John chuckles softly and pulls Rodney's head up for a quick kiss.

“Bring your pillow over to the table.” John sets a large tray of food on the small side desk. He snaps his fingers once and points to where he wants Rodney. “Knees OK?” Rodney nods enthusiastically; the ergonomic kneeling pillow has been his favorite Daedalus delivery by far. John smiles and cards his fingers through Rodney's hair in approval. He'll never get over having permission to touch Rodney whenever he wants. Rodney's stomach growls again, reminding him of what he needs to do.

John takes a bite of the lavender colored almost-chicken, forgoes his fork in favor of his his fingers and licks the juice off with slow precision. Rodney whimpers at the sight, and John takes pity on his lover, slips him a piece of the tender meat. Rodney's reaction to the food is oral porn, and the feeling of Rodney's lips wrapped around John's fingers turns the low burn of arousal John's felt since he left the labs into something much more insistent. 

John keeps up a steady stream of one-sided conversation, his voice pitched low and even as he continues to hand-feed Rodney one morsel at a time. He watches as the tension seeps out of Rodney's bones and his scientist relaxes one muscle at a time. Rodney lets himself float along with John's words, letting everything go—despite the _ridiculously slow_ pace at which John eats.

“Rodney.” He starts at the warning in John's voice, flushing guiltily. John can always tell when Rodney's focus drifts, when he's thinking instead of just feeling. John threads his fingers through Rodney's fine hair and pulls, making the kneeling man arch back. He runs a finger down the exposed line of Rodney's throat, and Rodney swallows reflexively. He can feel the power in John's hands, they practically vibrate with constrained energy; Rodney's seen those hands break a man's neck, but he's never felt as safe as when they're touching him.

“Do you know why we're here, Rodney?” He shakes his head as much as John's grip will let him. “You, the so-called greatest mind in two galaxies”--Rodney flinches—“can't remember his lover's, his _top's_ , promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. From a man who takes such pride in having two PhDs, who puts such stock in titles, I tried to figure out why you'd forget. All I came up with was that you think I'm not worthy of my promotion. Is that true?” 

Oh shit. Rodney shakes his head frantically, ignoring the sharp pain where John's fingers dig into his hair.

“So you're just...forgetful, then?” Rodney hesitates, then nods a little. There's not really any other response he can give. Because he wasn't so much _forgetful_ as wondering when John would do something (like this) about it. Sometimes John's so easy to manipulate, but then again Rodney's pretty sure John doesn't mind being manipulated like this. A slight jerk and Rodney's brought back to the present.

“Then I suppose we'll have to make sure you remember, won't we?” Rodney whimpers again, imagines how John could 'remind' him and his already-leaking cock throbs. John abruptly releases him, fingers massaging the pain away before he moves over to the bed. Rodney keeps his eyes focused on the floor in front of him, listening as John moves about the room, inspecting Rodney's work and murmuring his appreciation. Rodney can feel his face heating from the sheer contentment he gets from having John's approval.

Rodney hears everything; the rustle of John turning down the bed, the sounds of John laying some of their toys on the night stand, the soft flutter of a shirt hitting the ground followed by the metallic clink of metal hitting metal. Rodney shudders; John's dog tags do _things_ to him. The sight and sound and feel of them...there are times when John will slip them around Rodney's neck, lets them rest against his chest, the metal warmed from John's body heat. He always flies higher and longer on those days, because it's as if some part of John is always with him, always touching him. 

John's sharp clap startles Rodney out of his daze and sends him scrambling to his feet. John's standing expectantly on the other side of the room, so Rodney hurries over, cock bobbing hungrily as he walks. John's selected a nice array of toys, and Rodney's blood sings when he spies the large plug and leather flogger arranged artfully on the table. He loves those toys. There's also a small paddle and glass dildo resting nearby. John is apparently very serious about this whole Lieutenant Colonel thing.

John sits on the bed and motions for Rodney to stretch across his lap. Taking a deep breath, Rodney complies, and then allows John to arrange his body as he sees fit. One gun-calloused hand strokes across Rodney's ass, mapping its contours and exploring its secrets.

“I'm going to take you down some more, alright? Warm you up.” Rodney nods his understanding into John's leg; he can already feel himself relaxing more, his mind starting to clear just because of John's proximity. “You're to address me as Colonel tonight. Understood?” Rodney's in the process of nodding again when the first blow lands on his upturned ass. His fingers tighten around John's ankles, and John rubs the slight sting away before striking him again, higher up than the first. Rodney moans and feels the blood rushing through his cock.

John takes his time turning Rodney's ass a rosy shade of pink. He leaves no skin untouched, trailing his hand up to the small of his lover's back and down to his upper thighs, the blows varying in strength and speed. God, Rodney is the living embodiment of perfection. By the time John's hand starts to ache, Rodney's arching into his touch and panting; there's a wet spot on his BDUs and fingerprints bruised into his ankles. But that's OK, because he's Rodney's as much as Rodney's his and he doesn't mind wearing Rodney's marks. He puts one more hand print on Rodney's bare ass cheek before deciding it's time to move on.

“How are you feeling, Rodney?” He runs a comforting hand over his sub's back, giving him something to concentrate on. Rodney's breathing heavily and is a little out of it, but John asked a question. He pops Rodney again, delighting in the way Rodney's ass moves underneath his hand. “Rodney!” He can feel his sub dragging himself to a place where he can answer.

“I-I'm fine, Colonel.” Rodney's voice is as meek and subdued as he's ever heard it. John smiles and gently hauls Rodney up into his lap, cradling his lover gently. 

“So amazing,” he can't help but whisper. John gives into the temptation to caress the side of his favorite geek's face, and Rodney lowers his forehead to John's. They stay like that for a minute, Rodney humming contentedly in his lover's arms, his entire world contained to this moment and place. He loves this, never wants this to end. “Ready for more?”

“Whatever you want, Colonel.” John's smile lights up the room and he kisses Rodney once, fiercely. 

“Face down on the bed, legs spread, hands up.” Rodney follows John's command with a serene look on his face, and John marvels at just how far down Rodney will go for him, just how much he _trusts_ John when they're like this. They haven't done this in...too long. And if this is the way Rodney's reacting to the light warm-up play...

John secures Rodney's ankles to the bed, the fur-lined leather cuffs obscenely dark against Rodney's pale, flawless skin. He kisses each ankle as he tightens the restraints and runs a hand possessively up Rodney's body, pinching his shapely pink ass before securing Rodney's wrists together. There's a convenient, discreet hook at the top of the bed installed for just this purpose.

“Paddle or flogger, pet?” John admires the blush that stains his captive's skin at the name; John only ever uses it when he's deep in his own top-space. “You're getting them both anyway; it's just a matter of which one first. Last choice you get to make tonight.” The bound man mumbles something incoherent, and John brings his hand down hard in retaliation.

“Speak up!”

“I'd like the flogger...Colonel.” John's eyes narrow at the tagged-on title, but reaches for the flogger without comment. Rodney won't be forgetting his rank any time soon. Not after tonight.

“You've been calling me Major for the better part of two weeks, Rodney. It's unacceptable and insulting. What would you consider an appropriate punishment?” Rodney hates being a part of his punishments, hates anything to do with bringing himself pain (even when he really wants it and it makes him come harder than he has since he was a teenager); he also hates what happens when he tries to low-ball the number of blows. Regardless, Rodney's taking too long and John's impatient; he brings the toy down sharply against Rodney's abused ass. “How many?”

Rodney groans and wiggles on the bed; he can feel his cock leaking against the sheets, can feel the incessant pulsing of delayed release. He wants to come, but the only way that will happen is if he pleases John. “Twenty,” he gasps out, randomly plucking a number from the air. John's acknowledgment is to bring the flogger down on the lower part of Rodney's ass, where his legs and buttock meet. John trails the soft ends of the whip over Rodney's sensitive ass.

“Count.”

“One, Colonel,” Rodney manages to gasp out. Rodney hears the whip whistle through the air before it strikes him again. If he weren't so securely tied down, he'd be rubbing himself on the bed, trying to get some friction going, or straining up to meet the flogger. “Two, Colonel.” John keeps the pace steady and drives Rodney further down into the space where everything is quiet and still and easy and John. On the last strike, John angles the flogger so that a tip flicks against Rodney's hole. Rodney's reaction is instantaneous: he tries to buck off the bed, lets out great sobbing breaths and pulls against his bonds. John runs a soothing hand over his back, grounding his lover, whispers assurances in his ear. Rodney's a quivering mess on the bed in the aftermath, sweat pooling in the dent in his lower back. John talks him down, coaxes Rodney back to himself.

“T...twenty, Colonel.” Rodney's voice is hoarse, and John's impressed because Rodney's reaction made him forget about the counting thing.

“Good boy, so good, so hot,” John whispers, kissing Rodney's shoulders and back. Rodney's muscles dance and quiver beneath John's hands and lips. When Rodney seems to be together, John checks the cuffs for chafing. Satisfied, he picks up the plug and lubes it liberally, careful to keep his actions quiet.

When John slides a finger into him, Rodney moans and arches into the touch, his ass rising a little off the bed. It's still pink from the spanking, marked by deeper red welts from the flogger. The heat coming off of it could power Atlantis for days. 

John's erection is straining against his pants, chafing at the coarse material, but he ignores it in favor of working a second finger into Rodney's tight heat. He curls them up and searches for the spot that makes Rodney yelp, a verbal exclamation that's not any discernible word but pleasure incarnate. A third finger joins the ones already happily exploring Rodney's opening, and the man in question whimpers and thrusts back, begging wordlessly for more.

“Be still,” John orders, and Rodney's movements slow to a stop. His breath shudders through his body, ragged and broken. John's undone him; it's almost time to put him back together. There's a murmur of protest when John withdraws his fingers, but it turns into a panting affirmation when the blunt tip of the plug breaches his entrance. John slowly fucks Rodney with the toy, urging it deeper and deeper, hitting Rodney's prostate at random intervals. Rodney's eyes are closed tightly, and his hips make small involuntary jerks against the sheets. When the plug's fully in, John coaxes Rodney back to him, convinces his lover to open his eyes.

“John,” Rodney murmurs, eyes a little glazed. John releases Rodney from the bed, rubbing his lover's stiff muscles before convincing him to move. He leaves the cuffs on his sub's ankles and wrists because the very sight of them is almost unbearably arousing. He hauls Rodney up, steadying him when he sways a little bit. Rodney blinks and realizes that John's still almost fully clothed, and not a single part of him looks out of order. Except for maybe his eyes, which are a little wild. John arranges himself on a chair and settles Rodney on his lap.

Rodney gasps when his abused butt comes in contact with the abrasive material of John's clothes. He tried to squirm away, but John holds him there, thrusting up, rubbing his covered erection against abused Rodney's ass. John starts stroking Rodney's cock, jerking him off painfully slow strokes. It's not enough.

“Please,” he begs, caught up in the sensation that John's creating, controlling. “God, Colonel, please!” John laughs and bites his shoulder, and Rodney's choked 'Fuck!' only spurs him on. Rodney's right on the edge, teetering on the razor of orgasm when one of John's hands wrap around his balls, the other settling right at the base of his cock, and then _pulls_.

It's the single nastiest, meanest, most horrible thing anyone's ever done to Rodney in his LIFE, and he's counting the time Judah Masterson purposefully threw a lemon at him and that odious jail cell on PX6-949 with the giant hissing cockroaches.

He tries to get away from the force that's staving off—killing—his orgasm, struggles blindly on John's lap until John's voice breaks through.

“Rodney!” John's voice is hard and uncompromising, and it stops Rodney immediately. He bows his head and rests is against John's chest, catching his breath, only to lose it again when he remembers the paddle still lying on the table and John's ominous warning that he'd be using all the toys. He peeks up at John through his lashes. John smirks a little at him, all boyish and playful, and draws Rodney down for a kiss.

They make out like teenagers for ages. This is one of the (many) things he loves about John. He's the only adult Rodney's ever been with who loves kissing as much as everything else. With John, kissing is an art form to be practiced and perfected, and John likes to practice A LOT. Kisses aren't necessarily a prelude to anything else; John enjoys kissing simply for the sake of kissing and Rodney just enjoys John. He's already shown Rodney, whose desire for knowledge and learning is unparalleled, hundreds of new kisses. (His favorite is the one where Sheppard shows up and pulls him into some dark corner, presses their bodies together, and plunders Rodney's mouth...then leaves Rodney, panting and achingly hard, with a promise of more after the work day.) When John breaks the kiss, Rodney's vaguely disappointed.

“Go get the paddle, Rodney.” And just like that, his heart's racing in anticipation again. He gingerly disentangles himself and stumbles towards the table, luckily only a few steps away. The paddle is heavy in his hand, the grip warn and used. He pads back to John and hands it to him with his head bowed, eyes on the floor. 

John snaps his fingers twice and Rodney scrambles into position. He drops to the floor, facing away from John, head pillowed on his folded arms, torso pressed to the ground; his legs are spread wide, ass hovering in the air, completely open for John's amusement. Rodney feels the rough edge of the paddle slid against his back, tracing some invisible path that's pleasing to John. He taps it against the plug and the toy brushes against Rodney's prostate. Rodney whimpers, but keeps himself as still as he can.

“Sssssshhhh,” John whispers, “take this and I'll let you come. I'll slide inside you and fuck you until you can't feel anything but my dick in your ass.”

The paddle's light, and the noise it makes is scarier than the feel of it slapping against his already-abused bottom, and it sends Rodney spiraling down into subspace, just like John planned it. John paddles him for what feels like forever, and Rodney's ass feels like it's on fire, but he's beyond caring. He endures it because John wants him to, because John would never do anything to hurt him and this feels amazing. When John's satisfied that Rodney's ready for him, when his ass is red and he's aching for John to fill him, John tosses the paddle away and grabs the lube and the dildo.

“On the bed, pet. Stay still.” Rodney needs some help getting up, so John supports his lover as he moves to the bed. Rodney's a sight to behold stretched out on his stomach, and John forgets how to breathe when he reattaches Rodney's hands to the bed. It's unbelievably hot, having Rodney bound and at his mercy, an incredible rush that not even flying can touch.

Rodney watches with lazy eyes as John slicks up himself, pinching the base of his cock because Rodney's too arousing for his own good. Rodney's hum turns a bit questioning when John picks up the dildo, but doesn't move towards Rodney.

“Didn't say ALL the toys were for you.” Rodney moans, long and deep in his throat when John turns around, two fingers already buried in his own ass. He works them in and out, Rodney providing a pornographic soundtrack to his movements. When he's nice and loose, John slides the toy into himself with his own strangled moan. He fucks himself, enjoying the slide of the smooth glass, hitting his prostate a couple of times before pressing its entire length in.

When he turns around, Rodney's trembling with the effort to keep still, his beautiful mouth open and panting, his eyes black, that perfect ass still gloriously red. John's struck with the overwhelming urge to be in Rodney. NOW.

“Up, up.” John flips Rodney onto his back, looks into sex-blown eyes that flutter closed as he pulls out the plug and replaces it with his cock. They both gasp at the sensation, Rodney's hands tugging at his restraints. John can feel the dildo inside him, filling him, pressing against his prostate while Rodney surrounds him; he imagines this is what heaven feels like, this moment stretched out for eternity. Rodney whimpers and thrusts shallowly against John, asking and encouraging. John obliges, pistoning into Rodney's welcoming body, his body snug between Rodney's legs, his balls slapping against the warmed skin of his lover's ass. John hikes up Rodney's legs, pulls them over his shoulders, the position opening up Rodney even more.

Rodney grunts and groans with every breath, the sensations John's building in him almost painful now. The need to come is just shy of overwhelming, but he holds on because John wants him to, needs him to. He tightens his muscles around John's cock, feeling so wonderfully full he doesn't want it to end. 

John swears and then he's coming, his entire body convulsing with his release. Rodney can feel John's orgasm in ever part of his body. John manages to whisper 'come' in Rodney's ear, the command turning into a mangled shout as Rodney's orgasm telegraphs through the place where's they're intimately connected and John feels every tremor, every pleasurable shudder of his partner's release.

Rodney starts coming back to himself while John's releasing him, kissing his wrists and ankles as the cuffs disappear into their drawer. When he's done, John climbs into bed, tucking himself around his lover. Rodney floats along on his endorphin high, sluggishly calculating how much time needs to pass before he can conveniently 'forget' this little lesson and call John Major again. They cuddle for a little while, John's presence anchoring Rodney, bringing him back from his subspace and also lulling him to sleep.

He's almost gone when John drops something over his head, and the cool touch of metal sends a shiver through Rodney. He glances down at his chest and sees a set of dog tags resting there, gleaming in the moonlight.

“Wha?” he manages, his attention captured by the shiny metal at the center of his chest. John grabs the thin chain and drags the clinking tabs up Rodney's body, letting the metal brush across Rodney's skin. Rodney can barely breathe he's so turned on, and if he hadn't just come like a teenager he'd be hard again. John knots the ball-chain so that the necklace is tight on Rodney's throat, biting into Rodney's neck and undeniably there. Rodney shivers, John's breath ghosting against his ear.

“Can't give you a collar. But I can give you this.” He leans down and kisses Rodney slowly, thoroughly, with a patience Rodney can never hope to mirror, but he's still far down enough that he waits for John, submits to what hit top wants and needs. “Don't take them off.”

John dresses silently, regretfully bringing Rodney up. By the time he's ready to leave, Rodney is almost back to himself, though it's obvious he'd like nothing more than for John to stay and keep him under till the morning and wake him up with sleepy morning sex. It's better than coffee and much more satisfying, but John's job makes that dangerous. For a minute, Rodney thinks about getting worked up about the homophobic military and blah blah blah...but that would mean breaking out of the afterglow John's worked so hard to give him, so Rodney snuggles down into his bed, lets John tuck him in, and enjoys the dull ache in his ass. John leans in for one last, lingering kiss before disappearing into the hall.

Rodney lays there, caught in the after glow for an interminable time. He rolls over on his side and the metal clinks and slides across his skin. Curious, Rodney dangles the tags in front of him. There's his name, social security number, social insurance number, and birthdate. The other bears a medical alert symbol and a list of his most serious allergies.

There's a third tag with Ancient pressed into it, a word that many translate into 'owned' but really means 'belongs.'


End file.
